...Were the exact words Grace Slick uttered directly before Bill Graham gently led her off stage.
The Stage Was Set In the middle of Winterland on the north side -- not in it's usual west side stage setup in the east-west formation aligned with Post Street.
This show, on a silent Monday night, was a benefit for the roadies. The New Riders opened.
After listening to this, I know now it was a fabulous concert. But during the show we were in agreement that they were tired from touring and merely going thru the grateful motions. Wrong!
I may as well get the Grace Slick stuff over with in this review a.s.a.p
.: She showed up after the break very stoned, very alcohol/cocaine stoned. Stoned with a capital stoned.
Her in-your-face and disrespectful "about the band" scat singing performance was actually humorous and engaging because of the fact that she got up and sang with no warmup and let it fly however it lie. For this purpose was this reviewer spared.
After she got thru screaming, Grace blew us a kiss and left the stage -- "Gram" escorting. -- My impression was that the audience could have taken her or left her and if she wanted to get up there and sing, well, boy howdy, we just didn't care. -- The first set had so well primed us we could have settled easily for Topo Gigo, the Italian Mouse. -- If Grace would have showed up dressed in leathers and cracking a whip it wouldn't have mattered because, after a few rounds, Grace would be gone and we could settle back in for the night long. But no, prior to Truckin' Grace gets up there again likes she's grabbing Spencer's drum vocal mike, and, sizing up the situation, while the GD tuning don't know what's going on, gives up and strolls off stage before squeaking-out another note.
The Grateful Dead played well with her and without
her. It was fun. We all had a great time. I stood in the same place all night long. Though the other members of my party did, I did not eat or drink anything or go to the bathroom.
On the drive home we were in a stoutly critical discussion of how bad the Dead were that night. One of my passengers -- a taciturn young lady who had come along with us for her first GD concert -- spoke up, and blurted, "I don't know what all of you are complaining about! That was the best concert I've ever been to in my life!"
Suddenly the only sound present was the sound of the highway's rushing stationwagon and the dimly backed-off music of KSAN-FM. We all turned silent in realization that she had nailed us. Deadheads are the Dead's harshest critics.
(My justification: How can you blame us? When you
hear your own perfection you just want to hear it again and again.)
Welp, pilgrim, we heard it that night, the perfection, bourne in our cranial cavities again and again. And, of course, pilgrim, you know my miserable plight; It sounds better on this recording than it did that night with the, the Stage Set in the Middle. And Grace! Right!
This recording is hissy. Accept it. Life is a hissy fit. Yours first, then it.
"Get that bitch off the stage!"